Sunlight on the Surface
Artwork by Mirjana M.
“Digital, mixed media collage inspired into creation by contemplating the element of Water and its connection to healing; how in the process we often find it hard to embrace warmth without it defining us as fully healed.”
Mirjana M. (they / them) are a digital artist and writer from Belgrade, Serbia. Their work focuses on exploring the juxtaposition of various elements through mixed media of photography, textures and fractal light weaving concepts of duality. They authored 3 poetry collections.
olorielmoonshadow.wordpress.com
IG: @cyanide_cherries
X: @selena_oloriel
BS: @cyanidecherries.bsky.social
olorielmoonshadow.wordpress.com
IG: @cyanide_cherries
X: @selena_oloriel
BS: @cyanidecherries.bsky.social
I Should Write the Letter
Creative Non-Fiction by Tracie Adams
If I were to write the letter, it would begin with “Dear Younger Me, don’t be afraid.” I would tell me that everything will be okay. Well, not everything. But I’d leave that part out, because my letter would scale impossible walls to reach me in the darkest of places. My words would shine a light on the path ahead, and my wisdom would lean down to wrap me in a warm hug.
If I were to write the letter, it would say, “You can let go of some things but hold on tight to the things that will last, like dreams, because sometimes they fade but they never really die.” My words would be an instruction manual for how to let go and how to hold on. My knowledge would not change the course of history, but it would equip me for battles ahead like abuse, betrayal, addiction, and loss. It would push me over the finish line when I want to give up.
If I were to write the letter, I would make lists of things to keep:
1) grandma’s watch, the one they will remove from her wrist when she commits suicide on a train track
2) the voicemails your best friend will leave, inviting you to Thanksgiving, even though you will not go because of your depression, but when the brain tumor kills her the following summer, you will listen to her recorded voice over and over again and wish that you had eaten turkey with her
3) the cassette tapes that you and mom will record for each other during the year you will live across the ocean, so you can remember how you love each other so easily across continents without screaming accusations or breaking hearts
4) your baby teeth you keep in a jewelry box because their jagged edges, lined with dried blood the color of crimson velvet, will remind you of how much you have grown and how far you have come.
If I were to write the letter, I would give stellar advice like “call your mom every day, forgive without hesitation starting with yourself, hold your babies as long as they’ll let you, don’t lose hope because some dreams come true, go to Thanksgiving while you can, believe in God because he believes in you, and just eat the damn cake because people love you for who you are not how you look in skinny jeans.”
If I were to write the letter, I’d make a list of things to purge:
1) the mistakes and memories that haunt you
2) everything in the attic except the photos and journals, especially all the empty boxes you hoard in case you move someday (spoiler: you won’t be moving)
3) relationships that cost you more than they’re worth
4) the lies that you believe about being too much or not enough
5) the skinny jeans, obviously.
If I were to write the letter, it would end with “Dear Younger Me, don’t be afraid.”
If I were to write the letter, it would begin with “Dear Younger Me, don’t be afraid.” I would tell me that everything will be okay. Well, not everything. But I’d leave that part out, because my letter would scale impossible walls to reach me in the darkest of places. My words would shine a light on the path ahead, and my wisdom would lean down to wrap me in a warm hug.
If I were to write the letter, it would say, “You can let go of some things but hold on tight to the things that will last, like dreams, because sometimes they fade but they never really die.” My words would be an instruction manual for how to let go and how to hold on. My knowledge would not change the course of history, but it would equip me for battles ahead like abuse, betrayal, addiction, and loss. It would push me over the finish line when I want to give up.
If I were to write the letter, I would make lists of things to keep:
1) grandma’s watch, the one they will remove from her wrist when she commits suicide on a train track
2) the voicemails your best friend will leave, inviting you to Thanksgiving, even though you will not go because of your depression, but when the brain tumor kills her the following summer, you will listen to her recorded voice over and over again and wish that you had eaten turkey with her
3) the cassette tapes that you and mom will record for each other during the year you will live across the ocean, so you can remember how you love each other so easily across continents without screaming accusations or breaking hearts
4) your baby teeth you keep in a jewelry box because their jagged edges, lined with dried blood the color of crimson velvet, will remind you of how much you have grown and how far you have come.
If I were to write the letter, I would give stellar advice like “call your mom every day, forgive without hesitation starting with yourself, hold your babies as long as they’ll let you, don’t lose hope because some dreams come true, go to Thanksgiving while you can, believe in God because he believes in you, and just eat the damn cake because people love you for who you are not how you look in skinny jeans.”
If I were to write the letter, I’d make a list of things to purge:
1) the mistakes and memories that haunt you
2) everything in the attic except the photos and journals, especially all the empty boxes you hoard in case you move someday (spoiler: you won’t be moving)
3) relationships that cost you more than they’re worth
4) the lies that you believe about being too much or not enough
5) the skinny jeans, obviously.
If I were to write the letter, it would end with “Dear Younger Me, don’t be afraid.”
Tracie Adams, a Pushcart nominee, has work in BULL, Does It Have Pockets, Cleaver Magazine, Trash Cat Lit, Bright Flash Literary Review, Cool Beans Lit, and others.
www.tracieadamswrites.com
X: @1funnyfarmAdams
www.tracieadamswrites.com
X: @1funnyfarmAdams
